


the part where you save me

by DragonNinjaAri



Category: Degrassi
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animals, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:06:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonNinjaAri/pseuds/DragonNinjaAri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Before he can bury his nose in the snow and shut his eyes and cry, like he wants to, like he very much wants to, a soft flutter of wings makes him lift up his head, to the sight of an owlet, even smaller than him and even fluffier, almost hovering in the air in front of him, which would be comical if he weren’t seeing triple. (Okay, maybe that does make it kind of funny.)</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“What’re you doing out here?” The owlet asks, tilting her head to the side and landing in front of him. </i>
</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The story of a puppy in new, scary woods, and the owl (and others) that helps him find the strength inside himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the part where you save me

**Author's Note:**

> This work will contain discussion of depression, anxiety, and potentially self-harm and suicidal thoughts. It is meant to be my own way of coping after the events of Bittersweet Symphony. Rest assured, more characters will appear as it goes on.

Campbell’s lost. He’s lost, and honestly, he doesn’t really care to get back to the cave. He doesn’t care that the snow’s in drifts as big as him, or that the sun’s starting to go down. That fluffy fur the wolves keep teasing him about – it’s sure coming in hand now, right? He doesn’t really feel cold at all.

That’s a lie; his paws feel cold, he muses as he jumps from one human-footprint to another. That’s sort of how he’s able to get around, in this snowy woodland. He pretends he’s a cat and scrunches up his hind legs and jumps, jumps, jumps. Maybe, he thinks as the setting sun’s light catches the falling snowflakes and paints kaleidoscopes on the ground, they’ll come looking for him. He _is_ a valuable member of the pack, so Dallas keeps saying, so of course they’ll come looking for him. They’ll apologize for tripping him.

And running so much faster than him on purpose.

And laughing when he tumbles head-over-tail trying to keep up with him.

Jump, jump—fwoosh!

A surprised yip escapes his mouth as he tumbles down a hill, for all he saw was more snow and footprints, and if he kept on jumping, he thought he’d get to a nice clearing, but really he just got to a nice steep slope.

Down, down, down he tumbles, yelping softly, getting snow on his tongue. When he finally stops, he can barely stand; the world still spins and he’s very aware that his nose is covered in white flakes—along with his very fluffy fur, his very fluffy tail. He sits, shaking off snow from his head, and then falls over again with a pitiful yip.

The sun’s going down faster now. Soon, it’ll be dark, and who’s he kidding? The wolves aren’t coming for him. No one is. He’s alone and he’s lost, and it’s very scary here, with the color fading from the world and his head spinning around and around.

Before he can bury his nose in the snow and shut his eyes and cry, like he wants to, like he very much wants to, a soft flutter of wings makes him lift up his head, to the sight of an owlet, even smaller than him and even fluffier, almost hovering in the air in front of him, which would be comical if he weren’t seeing triple. (Okay, maybe that does make it kind of funny.)

“What’re you doing out here?” The owlet asks, tilting her head to the side and landing in front of him.

Campbell shakes out his head again, his floppy ears making patterns in the snow as the slosh through it, and now he can see just one of the young owl in front of him, her feathers light and sandy colored, the rings around her eyes reminding him of those things he’s seen humans wear. Her feathers lightly peppered with snow sure look better than his muted brown fur, he notes as she comes into focus.

She hops closer to him, leaving tracks behind her, which the falling snow quickly tries to cover up. “Well?” She asks again in a kind of chirp.

Out of shame, he doesn’t look at her. “I’m…kind of lost.”

It sounds like she’s fighting back a laugh, so he ducks down further. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at finding things?”

That brings his head back up, bobbing a little because he whips it up too fast. “Not all dogs are trackers,” he retorts weakly, because he’s heard this far too many times, but any other words die in his throat, because the owlet is close enough so her beak almost touches his nose, and he has to back away before he keeps looking at her already-big-for-her-age eyes. “Um…sorry.”

She doesn’t seem to realize what he’s apologizing for at first but then jumps back, laughing again – and to his ears (though they may just have too much snow in them), it sounds like it’s kind of nervous.

“No, I got too close. I just don’t see too many dogs around here, sorry.” She looks up at the sky and adds, “And especially not at this hour!”

It’s true. The sun’s fast disappearing, which of course is why the owlet’s awake to begin with, and why he was starting to panic. He yelps again, and then he digs at the ground with one paw awkwardly. “Yeah… Yeah…”

The owlet tilts her head again, and then she hoots once. The noise isn’t like what he’s heard, in the night back home, in Kapuskasing, when he’s restless and curled up in his soft dog bed, far too big for him, in the dead of night. It’s not like what he’s heard, but he finds he enjoys it; it’s higher pitched and soft and squeaky all at once, and he finds it’s probably the cutest sound he’s ever heard. “Come on! Follow me!”

Maybe he’s entranced by the sound of the hoot, but he does—follow her, that is. He jumps through this fresh snow, no footprints to mark his way, and she flies slow, just above the ground, so he can keep up. It’s just a bit much for him; these snowdrifts are far too big, and he’s sure the snow will stop soon, so maybe he should just stay here until it does, digging at the ground and waiting until it won’t keep piling up to start attempting to backtrack.

But this owlet’s taking her time to lead him somewhere…better, he assumes, so he might as well follow.

They retreat under the cover of trees, beneath big oaks and pines and willows. The shade of one pine in particular is so massive that it protects them from the falling snow, and Campbell finds the pine needles surprisingly soft. He loves to roll in them back home, he just didn’t think they’d be soft here too, in Toronto, at Degrassi.

“That’s better, right?” The owlet asks, hopping nearby, and he nods, his floppy ears shaking off snow as he does. She dodges it – it’s in big bunches, caked on from hours of wandering – and shakes her own round body, fluffing up her feathers and tossing snow back at him. He wonders if it’s intentional or not, but he finds it doesn’t bother him as much as the wolves doing similar things.

He wants to apologize for getting snow on her, but instead he says, “I’m Campell. Well, Cam. Uh, hi.”

“I’m Maya.” She hoots again. He really likes it. “Hi, Cam.”

“Hi, Maya.”

“Hi.”

They parrot each other more than actual parrots (he knows, his mother’s best friend’s a parrot) and the snow falls and the moon rises, and Cam finds the flakes sparkling in the nighttime prettier than in the sunset. (Just don’t tell the wolves he thought that; he doesn’t want them to tease him again.)

A little laugh seeps out between them, and he shakes off the snow from his head, lightly, careful not to get it on her again. “Thanks. For, uh, this. I’m not really used to this place yet.”

“You’re new?” Maya asks, hopping from one foot to another.

He nods. “I’m kind of an…exchange dog. For—”

“Oh, for skating!” Maya flaps up and lands on the ground again, seemingly excited for figuring it out. “Out with the wolves?”

“Yeah, yeah, skating…” He digs a bit at the ground again.

Maya comments, “I heard Katie talking about that—oh, she’s my sister—but I wasn’t really paying much attention. I didn’t realize one of you’d be a pup!”

Campbell’s tiny tail begins to wag. “…Oh?”

“Yeah, I don’t really pay attention to much of the goings-on, really,” she admits. “Tori – the weirdest looking sight, this bright-colored bird, in these forests! – always says I’m not paying enough attention to the now, but _she’s_ dating Zig, a fluff-brained hare, so how does she know what she’s talking about?”

His tail picks up speed as he listens to her talk, about animals he’s never really met or places he’s been too afraid to explore, but he kind of likes it, just hearing her chirps and tweets and even the occasional hoot.

After a few minutes, he’s really sure it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.


End file.
